


Hours Later Congregating

by ohanotherday



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Medical Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:18:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohanotherday/pseuds/ohanotherday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hours pass before Brock notices the Asset is walking funny due to a wound. The team stops so they can treat her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hours Later Congregating

**Author's Note:**

> This was an excuse for PWP. Sometimes I see porn where doctors are like “okay, we’re just gonna do a routine checkup. And now I’m gonna stick my fingers in various orificies. Don’t panic, I’m a doctor, total protocol. Just let me put my dick in you now.”
> 
> I realized I haven't posted anything in months and I happened to open this document and realized it was all ready to go. So happy late trick or treat to you readers. The title comes from my new favorite song ["Here" by Alessia Cara.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKp2CrfmVfw)

Sometimes Brock really hated his job. The training was hard and there was no such thing as an easy mission, but that wasn’t the problem. The shittiest thing was getting dropped in near remote locations, in full tactical gear, in humid, unbearably hot, jungle, snake infested areas.

Deserts were bad, but at least it was usually a dry heat. Sure he felt like he was getting baked through and through by the sun, but humidity was worse. He could feel the sweat just soaking through his clothes, leaving him uncomfortable and sticky.

Long campaigns were boring as fuck. They had to proceed with caution, couldn’t just run in, kill the targets, take what was necessary, and leave. They got to do all that stuff eventually, but on foot or by car.

At least the rest of the Strike Team didn’t complain, true to the Hydra motto. _Only order through pain._ The Asset didn’t say a word, not while she hauled a sniper rifle around with her.

She didn’t say a fucking thing, just slept when told to sleep, ate when told to eat, and pissed when absolutely necessary. She didn’t argue at all while they trekked around through three countries.

\---

It wasn’t until they were nearing the continent of Africa that they were given their orders. Started from the west, went to the south, headed up northeast. There were jeeps to use left at certain spots. Dingy little shacks to use as safe houses, but nothing other than that.

Their last target was the political leader of Wakanda, and he was a suspicious man, with good reason. He was selling vibranium in small quantities, but there was a steady supply constantly being shipped out. It was a resource Hydra would like to have more of in their stockpile.

The last thing Pierce wanted was helicopters flying around, alerting T’Chaka of their presence before Hydra got its hands on a vibranium shipment—or better yet, a lead to the actual source.

\---

Sometimes Brock led the team. Other times he let the other team members do it, occasionally letting the Asset do the work. She was very good at it, very sharp, very attentive, and very protective of her team. He didn’t risk putting her in the back of the team. He trusted the programming, trusted Hydra, but if a bullet went through her head, he’d be dead. If he put the Asset in unnecessary danger, he might as well take his own gun and put it in his mouth before seeing what Hydra would do to him.

As far as Pierce was concerned, she was more important than the entire Strike Team combined.

She was trailing behind Rollins at the moment, not quite at the front, and not walking quite right. It made Brock’s heart race a little, watching the way her gait staggered just so. She had thick hips, and while her normal walk was more of a sashay than a typical soldier’s, it wasn’t usual.

He moved up quickly until he was right next to her. She glanced at him for a moment but didn’t slow down. They were protected by the cover of trees, which was something considering the times they had nothing but the night sky to cover them.

“Stop,” Brock ordered.

He walked around the Asset, inspecting her legs as he went. They’d gotten ambushed by a gang during the night, maybe six or seven hours ago. That was a long time for an injury to go untended, but not the going record for the Asset.

Brock glared at Barnett. He was the one who looked over the Asset afterward.

Outwardly, there weren’t any major wounds, nothing glaringly obvious. It wasn’t until Brock got down on his knees that he noticed the little tear in fabric on the Asset’s inner thigh. The fabric surrounding it was darker, but when Brock pressed a hand against the Asset’s leg, the fabric was dry, leaving flakes of blood on his skin.

The next safe house was about an hour away. The Asset had definitely been through worse, but at least it was a place where Brock could dig out the bullet or shrapnel and stitch her up.

“Barnett,” Brock hollered, “That’s on you. I’m putting it in the field report.”

Barnett nodded, pale faced but agreeing. If the rest of the mission went fine, Pierce might go easy and Barnett wouldn’t have anything more than a slap on the wrist to worry about. That was highly unlikely given Pierce’s demand for excellence, but it was something for Barnett to hold onto.

\---

The safe house was small. There were three rooms—a kitchen, a restroom, and a general living room space. Despite its outward decrepit appearance, it was strong and made of reinforced steel. There weren’t any windows, but that was fine.

While most of the other soldiers went to take off their packs and sleep or clean up, Brock took the Asset to the kitchen. Kisig followed with a medic pack, handing it to Brock with little prompting. It was thorough, basic supplies and materials.

As Brock rifled through the bag, he glanced up at the Asset. “Take off your clothes, get on the table.” He pulled out gauze and iodine, gloves, some alcohol. Kisig pulled out the rest of things necessary in the event that he had to dig out shrapnel and stitch the Asset up.

When the Asset undressed, Brock walked closer. He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning a little as he glanced over the rest of her body. The wound on her leg wasn’t horrific looking. It was wide, almost the size of a fingernail, but not oozing and infected. “Status report. Any other wounds we should know about?”

The Asset shook her head. “No.”

Just as she was about to climb up onto the table, Brock thought better of it. “Shower first.” He went to his own pack and grabbed a little container of body wash he picked up a couple of weeks ago while raiding a civilian’s home. “Come on,” he called, leading the way to the bathroom.

The restroom was meant to be utilitarian. There was one sink and one toilet, but the shower was made to be more like that in a military camp. There were three showerheads, and it was big enough for four people. Rollins and Fernandez were in it already, and they watched as Brock entered the room. He undressed quickly before motioning the Asset to follow him.

It had been awhile before any of them had showered with warm water, and Brock savored the moment. He knew his body was filthy, and everybody else was just as bad. He grabbed the Asset’s hand and poured some of the body wash into it before doing the same for himself.

“Scrub yourself clean.”

The Asset obeyed and lathered herself up. While Brock cleaned himself up, he watched. It was always interesting watching the Asset use the metal hand in domestic ways. Steadying a gun, strangling an enemy, holding a knife, those were the typical things she did with that arm. He didn’t normally see her using it to wash off dirt and grime, going careful like the physical sensation feedback loop was a surprise whenever she touched her skin with it. When Rollins handed the Asset his wash towel, the Asset was a little more efficient.

Brock was finished cleaning himself when Barnett and Kisig entered, but he wasn’t quite done with making sure the Asset was clean. Rollins and Fernandez stood by idly, making the shower packed.

Brock placed a hand on the Asset’s hips, guiding her until she was up against the wall. Brock poured more body wash into his hands. While the Asset was good at getting clean, she wasn’t that good. Brock started with her hair, scrubbing some of the filth out of there before moving his hands down to her breasts. She had nice tits, and it didn’t take much before her nipples started hardening underneath his thumbs. He went down a little farther, slipping his fingers between her legs and into her folds. She’d cleaned there already. She was thorough with some things at least.

Kisig and Barnett were closer now as they accessed the water from the showerhead, and Brock went ahead and slicked up his dick. Anyone else might cry about body wash about to go in their cunt, but the Asset didn’t say much as Brock pressed his body against hers. She smelled better than in the last few days, and it wasn’t a hardship having her to look at while he rocked his dick up against the jut of her hips.

“Brock,” Rollins warned. “Don’t take too long. Or else we’ll all get in trouble if she doesn’t get stitched up soon enough.”

“Mhmm,” Brock hummed. He was listening, but his sole attention was on the Asset’s face. She looked down as Brock shoved his dick in between her legs. He didn’t shove it inside her yet, just held her legs in place while he rocked his hips back and forth. He reached around until he could grab her ass, giving it a squeeze that made her move up a little. He’d like to fuck her right here, but Rollins was right. They had orders and protocol to follow, and he was ready to be done with the mission.

Brock angled his dick with his hand, sliding it around until it sunk inside of the Asset. Just a little bit for now. Just the tip and then, once she was all stitched up, maybe a little more.

He pulled out and rinsed himself. The Asset followed suit. She lived for orders, but there were certain things she knew enough how to do. Eating, washing herself, relieving herself, killing someone, and sitting on a dick were some of the basics.

\---

Once the Asset was laying down, Kisig went about to business. If the Asset had been left alone, she might’ve tried digging the shrapnel out herself and stitching it up. It would be acceptable, if not a little messy.

Kisig was still a better option than leaving the Asset to her own devices. Some of the wound had closed up, no doubt thanks to whatever serum she had pumping through her veins. Kisig had an easy time of cleaning the wound and stitching the Asset up. Without the shrapnel, the wound would close nearly neatly up on its own. When Kisig was done, he cleaned up and went back to the living room to pull out his sleeping bag.

Brock stayed in the kitchen. The Asset stayed in place on the table. He had to appreciate the craftsmanship of the table. It was metal and probably built and placed her by Hydra for the sole purpose of surgery, but the Asset was heavy. She had so much metal in her body that he was surprised the table didn’t break under the weight. Once during a training session, she sat on a recruit’s chest and made him cry before eventually passing out.

After the shower, Brock had put on pants, but the Asset was still naked, naked and spread out on the table. He pressed a hand against the stitches. She shivered but didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t dare complain about a little pain.

He let his hands trail over her body, inspecting things as he went. He never had much time to simply stare at Hydra’s prize trophy. Brock ran a hand over her stomach. The Asset had scars. Mostly from bullets and shrapnel. Nothing from hand to hand combat. People weren’t good enough to fight her up close and best her.

The Asset watched his hands as they went, but she said nothing. She rarely said anything unless it was absolutely mandatory to the state of the mission. She definitely didn’t say anything when Brock cupped a breast, just kept laying there and watching.

Her skin was still a little damp from the shower and her hair was still wet, but she didn’t complain. Brock knew her face from the textbooks. _Bucky Barnes, Steve Roger’s childhood best friend._ She definitely wasn’t Bucky anymore. Zola had remade her, refashioned her for Hydra’s service.

He tweaked a nipple, chuckling when her body jerked. She didn’t react much to pain, but these small physical sensations always got her moving. He cupped her face with a hand, sliding a thumb over her mouth. It wasn’t hard to get her to open up her lips, let him slide in a finger. She didn’t say a word when he unzipped his pants and shoved them down. It wasn’t hard to get her to move over and angle his dick into her mouth, shove it back in and out. She didn’t bite down, even if her teeth did scrape against him every now and then. If he didn’t have other duties, he could trace her lips with his dick all day.

He couldn’t of course. They had a timeline to keep to, and there were only so many opportunities he had to do this.

“Spread your legs open a little more,” he ordered, grinning when the Asset complied. He reached a hand in between her legs. He moved his fingers until he could part those lips, but she was already slick, already turned on and ready to go. He pressed two fingers inside of her, crooking them up. “You’re always so wet,” he mused. “Let’s see if I can help you with that.” He moved his fingers quickly, watching and waiting to see the moment when she would orgasm.

When it did happen, her body spasmed, hard like she would fall off the table if he kept at it. His hand got soaked, and the one not inside her he had to use to pin her down a little. The Asset had left a wet spot on the table, but he didn’t mind it.

“Good girl,” Brock crooned. “Move to the edge of the table.”

Just as he was about to shove his dick in, he glanced up, noticing the slight pout on her face. “What,” Brock cooed. The Asset didn’t say anything.

Her stitches were still intact, but he bent down and pressed a kiss against them. “I know you’re feeling better.” He kissed along the rest of her leg, until his mouth was up against her cunt.

Depending on who was the technician, she was either left with curls down there or as smooth as a baby’s bottom. The one time when Hydra had harvested some of her eggs it had made sense. Now though, it was just a surprise.

This time when they woke her up, they made sure to get rid of all the hair. He guessed they might’ve done some surgery, but he hadn’t seen her until after they were shipped out so he hadn’t asked the techs. The week outside of cryo left her with some trying to grow back, and now she was back to having a bush. It was rough against his beard, but he had a feeling she’d be cringing from beard burn just as bad as he would be from her. She squirmed a little while he went down on her, but she kept her hands on her side. He could see her fingers scraping against the table, and the metal fingers actually left some scratches.

When he finally shoved his dick in, the Asset actually seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t go gentle on her, but she relaxed easily enough while he fucked her. The kitchen and the general living area weren’t exactly separated. There was an opening in the wall, but no door. The others who weren’t attempting to sleep were watching with rapt attention.

She always tried going still, and if it weren’t for the rise and fall of her chest, Brock would believe she was asleep. He moved his hands up so he could grab her tits, giving them a good squeeze. The Asset could try falling asleep, but he wasn’t about to let her do so on his watch.

She spread her legs enough so that her stitches didn’t rub up against him, but Brock grabbed the leg and pulled it until it was over his shoulder. He squeezed her leg hard until the Asset let out a whimper.

The Asset blinked her eyes open, but when Brock didn’t reprimand her for the noise, she continued on. She was loud when she wanted to be, which was almost never, but with his cock inside of her, it was kind of nice.

Brock let her leg fall off of his shoulder, and he leaned forward, enough so he could get a tit in his mouth.

Sometimes he ordered the Asset to be completely still, but now her hips were undulating just a little, just enough to keep a rhythm going.

When he came, he didn’t pull out. He thrust a couple of times, hard enough that he could just fucking keep his load all up inside her, leave it there so the Asset would feel it sliding out of when they continued their mission. He liked leaving her a little sloppy, but that wasn’t possible in the long run.

Brock pulled out. The Asset was a mess. She’d need to be cleaned up before they left the safe house. He put his pants back on and headed to the other room.

“Rollins, your turn.” He pulled out his sleeping bag. Rollins rarely got into fucking the Asset like the rest of them, but there was a level of hierarchy that was followed. As he settled in to try catching some sleep, he glanced over at the Asset. She was still laying on the table, legs dangling precariously off the edge. “Barnett, you’re last.”

 


End file.
